“Matt, we’ve discussed this,” Marcus tells me exasperatedly. “It’s safer having everyone believe your dead. At least for now. For all we know, this isn’t even related to your involvement. It could be coincidence.” I shoot him a glare; he relents. “I know it’s a long shot, but it’s not out of the realm of possibility.”
“There’s nothing coincidental about any of this,” I say darkly. “And the worst part is I can’t even give her any warning because it will give the game away.”
“Look, I get this isn’t easy for you,” Marcus says. “But we’re doing everything we can to find out who’s behind this. You have to be patient, Matt. If you keep thinking up worst case scenarios, you’re going to drive yourself to madness.”
I flop backwards onto the bed, pushing my fingers into my hair and staring at the ceiling. “It’s a little difficult not to think of worst case scenarios when I’m locked up in this shithole,” I grumble. “Just tell me you’ve got some sort of security detail keeping an eye on her, keeping her safe.”
“Of course I do,” he assures me. “And if she gets herself into trouble, they won’t hesitate to intervene whether it blows cover or not. She’s safe, Matt.”
I want to agree with him immediately, I want to trust him, but when it comes down to it, I’m hesitant to trust the safety of Samantha and Tyler to anyone that isn’t me. If I were with them, I could rest easily knowing without a doubt they’re safe. From here, I can’t do shit. The situation is out of my control. And there is nothing I hate more than feeling out of control.
17
The mattress sags behind me and I feel myself smiling as I reenter the waking world. Of course my first thought is that Matthew has decided to join me in bed again; he’s been in my dreams all night and I turn over to see him with my own eyes before getting a harsh kick back to reality. Matthew isn’t on the bed beside me. It’s Claire. And I suddenly remember Matthew won’t be sharing my bed ever again.
Tears inexplicably sting my eyes. Granted it’s not the first time I’ve woken up like this, wanting him after a night of dreaming of him in a variety of ways. It’s not always sexual, though I’ve had my fair share of those dreams. Sometimes we’re just sitting around talking. Sometimes we’re off doing dream-like things that would seem insane in the waking world. Sometimes we’re not doing anything more than sitting with each other. Whatever the dream, I always wake up with this expectation of seeing him, whether it is beside me in bed, or him coming out of the bathroom after his shower, or downstairs having coffee with Leo. And every time I feel my heart cracking a little more to know he’ll only ever live in my dreams.
“Hey,” Claire says, her brow furrowing in concern as I hastily wipe away an escaped tear from my cheek. “What’s this?”
I shake my head, forcing a smile onto my face. I really don’t want to get into this with her. “Nothing,” I tell her. “I’m good. What are you doing here?”
Claire frowns at my attempt to change the subject, and I know it’ll come back up soon. “Leo called me last night,” she tells me gently. “Said my dad paid you a visit yesterday and afterwards you weren’t feeling well. He thought you could use some company.”
Affection for Leo surges, though I have to consider his calling Claire in to tend to me was so he could avoid an awkward female emotional scene. “He wasn’t wrong,” I admit.
“What did my dad want?” she asks bluntly.
Sighing, I consider how I should respond. On one hand, I want to get it all out into the open to someone, just to get it out of my head. On the other hand, we’re talking about Claire’s father and I don’t want to put her in a more awkward position than the one she was in when her sisters told her what their father allegedly did five years ago. “He basically told me I have no right to be in Matt’s house,” I say carefully. “And final wishes or not, he’ll make it his priority to see me gone.”
“Fuck him,” Claire says firmly. “He has no idea what your relationship with Matt was like. He doesn’t know the reason you left. He doesn’t know how badly Matt wanted you back. All he sees is another instance where he can lord over Matt and get what he wants.” She sighs heavily and slides down in the bed, turning on her side to look at me. “Dad always held Matt to a higher standard than us girls. He expected Matt to be a carbon copy of himself and when Matt graduated high school and didn’t immediately join the military, Dad was pissed. I remember that fight and it was bad, Sam. We thought they were going to start throwing punches. Dad was shouting that Matt owed it to him to enlist. Matt shot back that he didn’t want to end up a cold robotic drone.” My eyebrows shoot up. I know Matthew never had an interest in joining the military, but I didn’t realize how he really felt about it. “Don’t get me wrong: Matt knew what the military meant to my dad and he respected it. He just didn’t see it being the path for him and by that time he’d started resenting all my dad’s demands that he prepare for that life. I think he would have said anything to piss Dad off even more.
“Anyway, the argument went on for days before Matt finally took off and went to stay with Leo for a few days. Mom and I visited him and he told us he’d been accepted to Stanford and would be starting in the fall. We were thrilled for him. Dad and my sisters, not so much. I think Dad was getting close to disowning Matt altogether, but Mom talked him out of it. Their relationship wasn’t right until Matt was a junior in college, and even then it was really strained until Matt started his business. And that sure as shit didn’t stop Dad from trying to control how Matt dealt with his company, what deals he made, what aspects of technology he got involved in. Matt kind of let him run his mouth, then did whatever he was planning on doing before.”
“And then I came along and didn’t fit into the mold,” I mutter sardonically.
“Exactly,” Claire confirms. “The fact that Matt was crazy about you from the beginning didn’t help. I think dad’s opposition to your relationship made Matt fall for you even harder.”
I raise an eyebrow. “If that’s supposed to make me feel better, you’re failing.”
“You know what I mean,” she scolds, rolling her eyes. “And as for him trying to kick you out of here, he’s not going to get very far. Danny drew that will up and he damn sure wouldn’t have left any loopholes. So stop worrying your pretty little head about all this, come downstairs and have breakfast, and you can tell me all about this new job of yours.”
Before I can summon any sort of protest—not that I would, even if I could think of one—Claire is on her feet and out of my room. I make my way to the shower and think about what’s happened between yesterday and today. I’m still a little in shock at coming home to find Matthew’s father here waiting to do nothing more than stomp all over me. Like Claire said, fuck him. He’s trying to exert control over what little remains of his son’s life and while I appreciate he might want to keep anything that might be associated with Matthew close to him, he’s going about it wrong. Six years ago, I might have given into whatever he demanded just to avoid a nasty confrontation; but now Tyler is involved and I have no intentions of uprooting him again. He’s happier than he’s been in years and I believe that’s because he’s in his father’s home. Nobody, especially not Paul Young, will take that away from him.
By the time I arrive in the kitchen, I find Claire sliding bacon and eggs onto two plates and I grin as I retrieve the orange juice. Glancing over her shoulder at me, she tells me Tyler is out back playing with Leo and that Danny and the kids are on their way. Apparently she’s somehow conned her husband into not only taking out their three young children, but mine as well. If he manages to survive the day, he’ll have my eternal respect.
“I’m not worried about it,” Claire tells me, dropping a couple pieces of toast onto my plate. “One of his work friends is coming along to help with kid wrangling.”
“So it’s two men versus four children all under the age of seven,” I muse. “My money’s on the children.”
Claire laughs.
After breakfast
, Danny has arrived in the minivan and I throw in Tyler’s booster seat. He’s always been small for his age, having been born three months premature. Matthew and I spent weeks at his side praying he would gain enough strength to come home with us. For a while, it was touch and go; his lungs were the biggest concern. He hardly moved most of the time and the only thing to assure us he was still alive were the beeping monitors surrounding him. The best day of my life was the day Matthew and I walked into the NICU to find a team of nurses standing around our son’s incubator. He’d opened his eyes that day and Matthew swears Tyler smiled at him. That was the only time I’ve seen Matthew cry.
At six years old, he’s barely taller than Claire’s three-year-old daughter. The doctors assured me throughout the years that he is perfectly healthy, though they did warn me about him possibly developing asthma as he gets older. That’s a very small price to pay for having my son happy and healthy, and one I’ll have no problem dealing with if it comes to pass.
Claire and I watch as Danny backs down the driveway until they disappear behind the trees. She links her arm with mine and practically drags me back inside. We spend our morning lounging on the couch eating junk food and giggling like teenagers for no particular reason. It’s refreshing and I come to the sudden realization that I haven’t had any real friends I could just sit around with in five years. Claire has been it and we didn’t see one another nearly as often as either of us would have liked. I suppose I could have made friends with the girls in my office or in my old neighborhood, but I never had that inclination. It’s almost as though my life was on hold after I left Matthew, just waiting for the moment we would be reunited.
And of course I have to roll my eyes at myself at both the thought of what had happened when we were finally reunited as well as the fairytale-ish tone my thoughts take when I have these thoughts.
I tell Claire all about my new job and my new boss. She’s fascinated. Fascinated enough that she digs out her phone and immediately does a Google search for Frank Marone. To my surprise she actually manages to find something on him. Pictures, mostly, in context with the travel agency.
“Oh, he’s cute.” Claire grins. I roll my eyes; she winks. Her face freezes suddenly and her complexion pales.
“What?” I whisper.
She looks at me, startled, and tries to stow away her phone. I grab it before she can exit the browser and look at the photo that seems to have panicked her and I see why she reacted the way she did. It’s a photo of Frank at some black tie affair and standing right beside him is Matthew. I feel a smile on my face at how incredible he looks when he’s forced to dress up in fancy clothing. As much as he loathed the suit and tie look, it suited him well. The tuxedo he’s wearing fits him perfectly and the black tie seems to make his normally dark green eyes bright. He never bothered trying to style his hair; whatever he did to it, it only returned to its normal, messy state within an hour. Which was fine with me since I loved running my hands through his hair.
“They knew each other?” Claire asks me quietly, sliding over to look over my shoulder at the photo again.
I nod. “Apparently,” I tell her. “I didn’t know until I actually met him, but they did business together or something. God only knows what that business might be...”
And for the first time since I found out Matthew was somehow involved with Frank, I’m curious about what they did together. Maybe Leo can tell me...
“Matt looks like James Bond,” Claire says fondly, resting her head on my shoulder. “We tried getting him into a bowtie before some big benefit he attended. He wasn’t a fan and threatened all sorts of things about shoving the bowtie where bowties should never be shoved.” I laugh imagining the outraged look on his face at the very mention of wearing a bowtie. Claire sits up suddenly. “I’ve got a great idea...”
I groan, my head falling to the back of the couch. “Five words I always live to regret...” I mutter.
Snatching her phone from my fingers, she jumps to her feet and pulls me along with her. “Let’s go through Matt’s stuff,” she says conspiringly.
My eyes widen. “What?” I ask, laughing incredulously.
“You heard me.” She’s dragging me up the stairs. “It’ll be fun.”
“I seriously doubt that,” I grumble.
“Oh shut up,” she shoots over her shoulder. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Resignedly, I go along with her, knowing it’s pointless trying to argue her out of something when she’s so determined.
-------------o-------------
Patience is not something that’s ever been in my vocabulary. I’ve never been the type to sit around waiting for people to do things for me. The old adage of if you want something done right, you better do it yourself has been proved correct hundreds of times in my life. I try not to be domineering, but I’m damn sure going to have things done my way. And if they don’t go my way, heads will roll.
Sitting alone in this Godforsaken motel, my only form of entertainment is listening to recordings from the wiretaps we’ve had placed on several different phones. I’ve got days worth of this shit to sift through and as much as I want to, I can’t skip any of it. Every detail is important. Every word can mean disaster. And I’m ready to bang my head against the fucking wall until I’m unconscious.
For the most part, every call I’ve listened to has been innocent. A few have thrown up red flags, but on further investigation, I hit even more dead ends than before. Most of the taps have been placed on my business associates, people who had access to the same things I had access to, though a couple were arranged to set my mind at ease. I’m not proud of listening in on Samantha’s phone conversations, not that she makes many calls, but at least I’m able to hear her voice. I hate how sad and defeated she sounds; most people wouldn’t pick up on it, but I know her almost as well as I know myself, and therefore, I know when something has affected her. I’ve heard her speaking to Claire, her siblings, and occasionally Bonnie. Every time I hear her speak, she sounds a little stronger, a little more confident, and I don’t imagine it will be long before she’s back to being herself again.
There’s a part of me that wants to see her get back to herself fully, to the woman she was before I came barging back into her life a couple short months ago. I want to see her happy and carefree. And as much as I hate the thought of her with anybody but me, I almost want her to meet somebody who is less complicated, who doesn’t come with a frightening amount of dangerous baggage. If I stay out of her life, like I told her I would when she left me, she and Tyler can live a comfortable fulfilling life.
Of course, I’m far too selfish a man to actually give this much real consideration. From day one, I’ve gotten what I want and that will not change. In order to get what I want this time, I have to listen to hours of mindless phone conversations.
A ping alerts me to a new email. I pause the recording of one of my senior advisors speaking to his wife about dinner and open the message. It’s a forwarded email that raised a red flag in one of the many alerts I have setup. Of everything I’ve seen and heard today, this is the one that freezes the blood in my veins. The sender is speaking in heavy code, the message being hidden in something about vacation arrangements. It takes me a few minutes to work out why this is significant. Only a few words register as important and I suddenly know exactly what’s happening, who’s involved, and what the goal is.
It goes against every security protocol that has been put into place for both me and my family’s safety, but not being a patient man and knowing what’s at stake, I have no other option but to get involved.
I’m going home.
-------------o-------------
Monday morning began simply enough. I dropped Tyler off at school and drove the couple blocks to work where Frank waved distractedly from his office, his desk phone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder. I sat at my desk, checked the appointments scheduled for the day, and started making all the necessary arrangements for those appoi
ntments.
It isn’t until midday that Frank finally stepped out of his office. Immediately I am aware that something is wrong. His hair is messy as though he’s been running his hands through it and pulling at it. He’s frowning. When he asks for a rundown of what the day looks like, he barely listens as I answer.
“Is everything all right?” I finally ask when I find him glaring out the front door.
His head snaps over to me as though he’s only now realized that I’m here. “Yes, of course,” he says, his smile in place. “I’m just a little... distracted...” He trails off, turning back to the window. “Listen, I’m going to head out, grab a bite to eat, get some fresh air. Do you think you can handle things for a couple hours?”
I blink in surprise. I’ve only been on the job a week and while I’m a quick learner, if I was my employer, I wouldn’t be willing to leave a new employee completely alone. “Um, sure, I guess,” I say uncertainly.
“Good.” He smiles at me again. “Anything I can get you?”
I shake my head as he retreats back into his office for a moment to retrieve his keys and jacket, then he practically runs out of the building. “Okay...” I say to myself, allowing a few minutes to figure out what just happened before resigning myself to the fact that my boss has just abandoned me.
Glancing at the schedule, I realize I have about twenty minutes before the first appointment arrives, so I continue on as I had been before. I’ve almost prepared myself fully until I hear a noise somewhere behind me. I turn my chair to face one of the doors that has remained locked since my first day here. Somebody’s back there. Dull thumps. Muffled voices. Footsteps. Most people would consider calling the police. Some would consider leaving the building until there was somebody else there to keep them company. Only a few would approach a door that they’ve been told in no uncertain terms is off limits, press their ear to it, or try to open it. Of course the knob doesn’t turn, but now my curiosity’s got the better of me. I back away from the door, fully aware that the camera in the corners are watching me, and return to my desk. Moments later, all the activity on the other side ceases and I’m left in complete silence again.
Young Lies (Young Series) Page 29